


Parenting

by Madtom_Publius



Series: Laurens Lives AU [5]
Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF
Genre: Dead Parent, Family tension, Gen, parenting disagreements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 17:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6529123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madtom_Publius/pseuds/Madtom_Publius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry and John discuss parenting strategies on Frances' first night in America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parenting

**Author's Note:**

> Originally authored by Madtomedgar  
> Originally posted: http://madtomedgar.tumblr.com/post/67823587106/lams-au-set-the-night-of-frances-first-night-in

John's first day in the company of his family, such as it now was, had been trying, to say the least. The feelings evoked by the reunion with his father and sisters had been violently ambivalent, but he had never felt like a greater failure as a man than when his little girl had rebuffed him and run crying and furious to hide behind Patsy's skirts. He hadn't expected her to love him immediately, but then nor had he expected just how much such a rejection would sting. While John was willing to view the incident as the natural result of the travails he had so recently put the girl through, Henry was, predictably, much less forgiving and insisted it was part and parcel of an enormous and dire behavioral problem indicating a shocking deficiency of character in his own grandchild. 

All in all, it had been a difficult day, and both men were happy to ease its effects with a round of Madeira in Henry's study after Harry and the girls had retired. Although John would have gladly shared a companionable silence with his father or talked of anything else really, Henry couldn't seem to let go of Frances' appalling behavior on their voyage from London. “I tell you, Jack," he fumed, propelling himself out of the chair he'd only just lighted in, "I’ve never seen anything like it. She’s practically feral! I would have thought the Mannings could be trusted at least to see to her manners, if not her education. I was shocked, shocked at the state of things when I went to fetch her. I don’t believe I have ever met with a worse behaved child. Did I tell you we nearly had to tie her down on the ship to keep her out of the rigging?" John nodded, opting for topping off his glass from the decanter rather than telling his father that this was at least the third time he'd brought up Frances' shipboard antics tonight. "It sickens me to think we entrusted her to such careless people, and now, now she has not even the most basic modesty or learning. And vicious, too, stubborn, willful… the girl is absolutely out of control. Indians would have raised her better. I’ve almost begun to wonder if she hasn’t some… some defect that makes her so wild.” Henry continued as he paced back and forth in the study, agitating himself all over again.

John knew his father meant well, knew that his indignation sprung from family feeling, yet it rankled, the way Henry was so disgusted with his daughter, considering what she’d been through, and the suggestion of an inherent defect was too much to be born. He knew his father had only the highest standards for his children (and now apparently grandchildren), and for most of his life he hadn't questioned whether those standards were fair. Some part of his mind knew that Henry's vitriol must be at least founded on a truth, but the familiar rage he always felt when someone insulted those he loved was rising quickly in him. Perhaps it was the first flush of parental attachment. But this was not Lee or that creature who had abused his cousin, this was his father, and he must tread carefully.  “You’re too harsh with her, father," he said stiffly. "Is it any wonder if she’s wild? She’s lost her mother, for heaven’s sake." Henry had never been one to allow sentiment as an excuse, but perhaps this at least he could understand. "You remember what we were like after Mama died. And we had you to comfort and care for us. She had no parent to calm her grief. I can’t think what we should have done without you with us, especially Martha. If anyone is to blame for Frances’ actions, it’s me. I should sent for her long before now." The Madeira was sharp and too sweet in his mouth, and John found himself longing for the bluntness of the corn liquor of the campaign rather that this syrupy dissembling.

The older man grunted knowingly. “Yes, that you should have. You will remember I counseled you to do so and now… well, now you can see for yourself–”

“What would you have me do, father? I can hardly turn back time and prevent her from having become this way.” Or from having lost her mother. Or from having been born in the first place. He ought to have moderated his tone, for he knew well that he’d no right to snap at his father, but he was defeated and tired and in no mood for I- told- you- so’s or moral posturing. He was certainly in no mood for analyzing every instance in his life in which he could have made a better decision. He'd had enough of that sort of reflection this past year. If Henry had advice, he was happy to hear it, but otherwise he could find a different line of conversation.

“The girl needs discipline.” Henry stated, exasperated.

John would have scoffed if he’d dared. He had an idea what sort of discipline his father had in mind for such gross misbehavior. “I rather think she needs kindness.” The poor child was terrified, bereaved, furious... and his father was suggesting that he instill yet more fear in her as a solution? This wasn't the first time John had disagreed with his father's advice on child-rearing. He'd insisted Harry had wanted strict discipline as well, and yet had it not been under John that Harry had finally mastered his French and his numbers? He was slowly becoming aware that the Madeira had snuck up on him and he was much closer to drunk that he'd bargained on. He recalled that it had been just this vicious quality of the supposedly civilized draft that had led to his being a father at all.  

Henry gave him the well- I- suppose- it’s- your- life- and- if- you- want- to- ruin- it- I- can’t- stop- you look. “She’s spoilt already with that, but she’s your daughter and–”

“Yes. She is. And I know I’ve been a sorry excuse for a father, considering I had only the finest example before me, but I can assure you I will do everything that I think right to ensure her happiness." John interjected abruptly, rising and crossing to the door. "Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve had a most vexing day. Good night, sir.” He drained his glass, no sense in wasting such expensive wine, and closed the door too heavily on his way out. There would no doubt be some comment tomorrow about his waspishness, but there would also be a furious unruly girl for him to soothe into something resembling proper comportment, and he'd had enough discouragement for one night.


End file.
